Neither Here Nor There: Just one more thing 05-04-2008

NICKI BRUCE LOGAN

Published 7:00 pm, Saturday, May 3, 2008

Herald Lifestyles Editor

Richard Orr, our longtime colleague here at The Herald, died unexpectedly of a heart attack Thursday, April 24, on his way to meet Kemp Hinch for lunch at the Far East Restaurant. Being punctual, when he didn't show for lunch, friends knew something had to have happened to delay him.

Those of you who knew Richard knew he was obsessive about accuracy, neatness and being on time.

Knowing Richard like I did, I could picture him gathering up his stuff and leaving his home in Edmonson, in a hurry to make it to Plainview on time. We all knew that if he saw he was going to be late, he'd call. I also knew that he wouldn't miss a meal at the Far East. Richard had his culinary favorites and the Joes' cuisine was one of them.

He had just talked to Managing Editor Doug McDonough, making some changes to a story he sent in, and mentioned that he was on his way into town.

When he didn't show, Editor Kevin Lewis and his wife, Nancy, went to Edmonson to check on him.

Richard's death was a blow to all of us here at The Herald.

I met him when I came to work at the newspaper in 1984, and over the years he and his wife, Jean Sterns-Orr, became dear friends. I've often said that we spend more time with our co-workers than with our family, and that either breeds love, tolerance and respect, or . . . well, let's don't go there today.

Like most of you have told me in the past week, it's obvious that we all have "Richard stories."

He was opinionated, but was open to other sides of a question. Accuracy was his passion, and he worked at a story until he was satisfied that it was perfect. He was quick to admit an error and correct it. He told me years ago that the crime wasn't in making a mistake since we all make mistakes; the crime was in not correcting it.

I worked with Richard more than 20 years. He mentored new journalists in town, including those working at the radio station, teaching them how to gather news and write an honest story. His newswriting was above reproach . . . as I said, he was the first to admit an error and correct it. If he thought he had not been clear in his word use, he issued a "Clarification."

He gave a strict accounting of public meetings, sometimes to the regret of those being covered. I can't remember a time that he was questioned that he couldn't back up his words, either from witness accounts or by recordings made at the meetings.

If a person made a particularly egregious comment, he often called to make sure he/she realized what had been said and gave them a chance to modify it.

He was a respected reporter (he liked to say that he was Reporter Rick, the Oldest Cub Reporter in the World) and writer and, in my opinion, a strange columnist. His McThoughts were collected far and wide by readers and were as eclectic as Richard. He wasn't reluctant to voice his opinion, especially when it came to stupidity and, his pet project, legalizing marijuana, particularly for medical use.

His columns were opinionated but, after all, that is what a column is . . . one person's opinion. Many thought Richard was an atheist, but he tried to explain in more than one column that he believed in God, but not in organized religion. He was compassionate and, often on the sly, helped down-and-outers and was fierce in his support of the Humane Society.

He had a great sense of humor, often aimed at himself.

After he retired to take care of his beloved wife, Jean, he passed along some hilarious e-mails. Some of them didn't make it through the first time he attempted to send them because, like me, he was computer challenged.

Jean was the love of his life and he missed her dearly. Every year, on her birthday, Richard placed a memorial tribute in the paper with a photo of Jean  I liked the one of her as a very young girl  and a quote from a favorite poet.

Living in Edmonson, if Richard needed to stay in town to cover a city council meeting or an interview, he picked up a burger and Tater Tots from his other favorite eating place, Burger World, and brought them to The Herald.

After tapping at my door to let me know he was here, Richard sat down on the little orange stool in front of my desk, shoved stuff on my desk out of the way, and say, "Do you mind?" before starting his meal.

Almost immediately, others in the office would drift in and we'd talk and get caught up on the latest stories he was working on. He liked to bounce things around, as he said, until he had everything clear in his mind. And, of course, those visits included lots of laughter and, sometimes, loud voices when we argued.

We visited almost daily, the last time was Wednesday afternoon when we talked about locating items for his eBay business, taking Glucosamine and Chondroitin (Richard said it helped his arthritis; I pointed out he had never been diagnosed with arthritis and so he was wasting his money taking it  but he said taking the G-C was why he didn't have arthritis), current stories he was working on, his dogs, my dog . . . well, you get the point. Richard really liked people and was a conversationalist.

When I first came to work at the Herald, I was puzzled about Richard and Jean, who were married, taking care of Jean's former husband, Charlie. When I got the situation figured out, I referred to Charlie as Richard's "husband-in-law."

Not knowing Richard well at that time, except for his curmudgeonly air, I was scared and embarrassed when a co-worker mentioned my description to Richard. He laughed and thus Charlie became Richard's husband-in-law. He and Jean took care of Charlie in their home until he almost burned it down smoking his cigarettes, then they took care of him in the nursing home. I don't think many men would do that . . . regardless, I've said many times that we all need a husband-in-law to take care of us when we are elderly.

Richard's death was a blow to all of us who knew and loved him. It will be a long time before I can look at my office door and not expect to see him standing there long enough for me to ask him, "Just one more thing . . ."